Stole
by MissDanielle
Summary: When a baby is kidnapped everyone has to put their differences aside to find her. Please read and review. CHAPTER THREE IS UP.
1. Chapter One

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Crossing Jordan or any of its characters.

**Author's Note**: This is the first time I've ever posted a beginning without having written at least the first draft of the end. What that means for you is that I probably won't be as fast as I usually am with updates because I actually have to write them in between. Reviews are always appreciated and usually make me update faster. Enjoy.

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"Talk to me, Nigel," Woody ordered playfully as he shuffled into the trace lab. Today was his first day back and he had hated every minute of it. For the most part, he had been confined to desk work and would be so confined until he could get around without his cane. His doctor predicted he would be back in full working order in another six weeks. After spending nearly two months in the hospital, Woody was more than ready to get back to active duty. In the meantime, he was suffering pitied looks from his colleagues and playing errand boy for guys he used to send to do errands for him. 

That's what he was doing at the morgue now. Hanson, a cop six years his junior, had sent him to pick up an autopsy report. Nigel turned when he heard the door swing open and launched right into his discoveries during the autopsy.

"Elizabeth Michaels, twenty four," he said, handing the report to Woody, "died of blunt force trauma. She was hit right there on the back of her head." Nigel traced his finger along the computerized image of Elizabeth Michaels' skull. Woody squinted at the injury. He was no doctor or a forensic expert, but he'd been in the game long enough to recognize what he was seeing.

"Looks like the butt of a gun," he suggested.

"Yes it does," Nigel confirmed, "I don't suppose any of your guys found such a weapon at the crime scene."

"You suppose right." Woody smiled and turned to leave but before he could make it out of the trace lab his phone vibrated in his pocket. He fished it out quickly and identified himself to the caller.

"This is Hoyt." Without meaning to be nosey, Nigel listened to Woody's end of the conversation. His voice was calm and controlled, serious and professional and it was obvious he was talking to a senior officer. "Yes sir," Woody said respectfully, "1327 Rosamun Street….Yes sir, I'll be there…yes sir….thank you, sir." When Woody folded his phone shut, Nigel pretended he hadn't been listening, but Woody, knowing Nigel's curious nature, filled him in anyway. "Kidnapping," he explained. "Someone's taken a baby from an apartment downtown."

Nigel's face fell at the mention of a kidnapping and Woody was suddenly hit with the memory of the last kidnapping they had worked together. Although it had been months since they had been duped by Nigel's ex-girlfriend, he still carried feelings of resentment and bore the scars of betrayal. Woody gave his friend a tight smile, thanked him for the autopsy report and headed for the elevator.

x x x

Woody pulled his car in front of 1327 Rosamun Street between two police cars; one marked, the other not. He took quick glance around the apartment complex before entering. It was a tall and commanding building. It looked only a few years old but he couldn't remember seeing it during its phases of construction, even though he passed it almost everyday. Inside he was greeted by an elderly doorman with "Hank" engraved on his shining name plate, and a young beat cop with no name tag, but who Woody knew as officer Moonie from the seventeenth precinct. He clapped the young man on the shoulder and tried to assess the situation before diving in.

"Do you know what's going on here?" he asked Moonie, "I mean, if there's no homicide, what do they need a homicide detective for?" When the chief had called and given Woody the address he had been curious about why he was needed for the case, but he knew better than to question brass. Moonie shrugged and pointed his thumb towards the ceiling.

"What the lady wants, the lady gets" he smiled, and then turned from Woody to greet one of the building's residents as he came through the revolving door.

Waiting for the elevator Woody wondered just who 'the lady' was. The knowing look Moonie had given him suggested that both he and Woody knew her, but Woody certainly didn't know anyone who lived in this building. No one he knew, apart from a few business criminals, could afford to live here. The expensive tile floor beneath his feet had been polished to a shine and he could see his own blurred reflection under his shoes. The halls were painted a rich cream and were lined with beautiful sconces that probably cost more than Woody's suit. They gave off a warm and comfortable glow but somehow, the lobby still felt cold.

Stepping off the elevator and looking for apartment 1407, Woody bumped into the woman who lived in 1402. She smelled of money and although she smiled politely before taking Woody's place in the elevator, he decided right away that he didn't like her. He gave her a quick glance over his shoulder as the elevator doors slid together and Woody wondered if she had heard what had happened to her neighbor's child. He made mental note to drop by and speak with her later.

The door to apartment 1407 was also being guarded by a young beat cop, but this time Woody didn't recognize him. He flashed his badge in the officer's direction and after receiving the nod of approval, entered the apartment. On the other side of the door was a sea of blue uniforms and cheap suits. On a sofa on the far side of the room a teary eyed woman sat giving a statement to the detective crouched before her. The man sitting beside her wrapped his arm around her protectively but offered nothing to the detective. The parents, Woody thought.

He quickly scanned the other faces in the room and found 'the lady' Moonie had been talking about. Standing with her back to him, in the semi circle created by six fellow police officers was the district attorney. He wondered briefly why she was here. Customarily, her role in this case would come long after his. Then, as if she could sense his presence, she dismissed the officers around her and turned to Woody.

"Detective Hoyt," she said and made her way to him. She glanced briefly at his cane and looked for a moment as if she might comment on his recovery. Woody was glad when she didn't. He'd heard enough of that already. Instead she held up a photograph for Woody to see. "This is Grace," she started. "About forty five minutes ago a man with a gun burst into this apartment, threatened Grace's nanny and took the baby from her crib. The nanny placed a call to 911 at seven thirty-two and police were here within five minutes. So far we have officers canvassing the building to see if anyone saw anything and we're working on getting a description from the nanny."

When she finished Woody nodded solemnly. She had given a good description of events, but Woody was still curious why she was briefing him as opposed to another officer. Perhaps the baby was the child of a friend. Renee Walcott looked like the type of woman who would have friends in this building; fellow attorneys perhaps, or some other high profile business people. Still not sure of his role in this case, Woody smiled nervously and tapped his cane against his foot.

"Miss Walcott, I don't mean to sound rude or anything," he started, "but why am I here? I mean I'm a homicide detective and I'm supposed to be on a desk." The district attorney nodded and folded her arms across her chest.

"Detective Hoyt, look around this room." Woody did as he'd been instructed but he wasn't sure what he was supposed to see. The room itself was sleek and modern with cold, hard edges and stale, harsh colors. If it weren't for the play pen in the corner or the high chair in the kitchen he would never had guessed that a baby lived here. When Miss Walcott didn't go on, Woody observed the people in the room. His fellow officers were milling about with their hands in their pockets or their arms folded over their beer bellies. They spoke in hushed tones through their mustaches about the Red Sox and the weather and waited for instructions. Each of their faces was weathered by sun and the horrors their jobs had shown them. Their eyes were sagging and lacked the shine they had had as rookies.

"Do you see those guys," the district attorney asked him finally. She wasn't talking about one specific group of officers but referring to the entire room. "Every one of them is probably operating under the assumption that Grace is dead or that she will be by the time we find her." Woody noticed the way she used the word 'we' and wondered again about her interest in the case. Perhaps it was related to a case of her own. "I realize, Detective, that you and I have had our differences in the past," she continued, giving him a knowing look as she alluded to the Malden and Montgomery cases. "But I know you are good at what you do. You haven't been around long enough to become as jaded as your colleagues." She cast her arm about the room and forced a smile. "As a detective, you come highly recommended, Hoyt, and as a person, I have complete faith that you won't give up until you bring Grace home alive."

Woody blushed. He wasn't sure if she was just stroking his ego or if she really believed the things she'd said, but it didn't matter. A child was missing and with a quick nod of his head, Woody vowed to find her.

He shifted his weight on his cane then and turned to the man and the woman on the sofa. He gestured to them with his thumb and looked upon them with pity.

"Those the parents?" he asked, even though he knew they were.

"That's her father, Eddie Thomas," the district attorney explained. "He got here about fifteen minutes ago. And the woman is Sophie Carver. She's the nanny." Woody nodded sadly before craning his neck to see overeach of his shoulders.

"Where's mom?" he asked when he could find no other women in the room. Miss Walcott looked up at him then and suddenly Woody understood. The fierceness that usually roared in her eyes had been replaced by something darker, something sadder, something almost hopeless.

"Right here," she said quietly. She tapped her index finger against the center of her chest to indicate just where 'here' was. "Grace is my daughter."


	2. Chapter Two

When Garret woke that morning, he sighed deeply when he found that another day had started without him. He'd slept for almost ten hours but he still felt tired. He pulled himself out of his rumpled bed and glanced at the alarm clock that hadn't gone off in weeks. It was nine thirty in the morning but it was still dark in his bedroom. He had pulled down the window shades a week ago and hadn't opened them since. He was bitter and angry and he didn't want the sunshine invading his private depression.

He was well into his second month of his suspension and some days he wished he had just been fired. At least then he could have some closure, he could move on. Instead he was hanging here in limbo not knowing, from one day to the next, whether or not he would have a job to go back to at the end of his suspension. His actions almost twenty years ago were under heavy investigation and until the investigation was through, Garret could do nothing but wait. Every once in a while he'd hear something about it in the news but nothing could be confirmed until the investigations were completed.

Slokum had given him strict instructions to stay out of the morgue until the investigation was complete and Garret politely acquiesced. Although all he wanted to do was get back to work, he couldn't bare to face the people he worked with. Garret knew of his tendency to place people on pedestals and he knew that he had taken a tremendous fall from his own. As he looked in the mirror this morning, Garret felt completely useless. Wallowing in a pit of self pity wasn't doing him any good, but without his job he was utterly directionless. His job had kept him grounded for as long as he could remember but now he had nothing and no one to hold onto. He flirted briefly with the idea of calling Jordan today but quickly dismissed it. He had let her and everyone else down so badly, that he wouldn't even know where to begin his explanation or his apology.

Instead he wandered into his kitchen and flicked on the tiny television on the counter. He listened without interest as he dumped a heaping scoop of coffee grounds into the machine. A dark haired woman, shouting over the whir of helicopter blades, informed the city that this morning's three car pile up had been cleared and then directed the broadcast back to the studio. In the studio a reporter Garret had been watching for years announced that he had breaking news from the Boston Police Department. Intrigued by the excitement the story had sparked in the young journalist's voice, Garret turned just as the image of Woody Hoyt appeared on screen.

The detective tugged nervously at the knot in his tie and cleared his throat. He took a deep breath and gripped the podium in front of him. Looking out onto crowd of reporters and cameras and lights, Woody silently prayed that he could keep control on the nervous stutter that had followed him since childhood. He ventured a quick glance over his shoulder and gave a slight nod to the district attorney before beginning.

"This morning at about seven-twenty-five a baby was kidnapped from an apartment on Rosamun Street." Woody held up a photo for the cameras to see. All the reporters had already been given a copy and by noon, Grace's face would be all over television newscasts and by morning it would be on the front page of the papers. "Her name is Grace Walcott and she is six months old. The man who took her is about six feet tall, white, with a medium build and dark hair. At the time of the kidnapping he was wearing black pants and a black sweater." Woody held up the sketch artist's latest rendering of the kidnapper and cameras flashed all over the room. Slightly disoriented by the lights, Woody turned his microphone over Grace's mother.

Standing awestruck in only his boxer shorts, Garret watched as Renee made her plea for Grace's kidnapper to bring her home. Stone faced, she begged for anyone with information to come forward. Garret had seen her on television dozens of times before and she had always seemed calm and collected. Today was no different. Although she was talking about her own daughter, her voice was even and her tone was nothing less than professional. She was being watched by thousands of people all over the city, but not one of them would be able to tell that during her entire speech, she felt as though she might throw up.

When the broadcast flipped back to the newsroom Garret shook his head and snapped back to reality. In the corner of the television screen, beside today's forecast was the time.

"Nine-forty-three," he muttered and hurried out of the room. At nine-forty-five, Garret's coffee maker gurgled loudly and clicked off as it ended its cycle. Garret never heard the sound; he was already out the door and on his way to his car.

x x x

After the press conference Renee sat on her sofa with Detective Hoyt. He perched on the edge and turned to her so that their knees were almost touching. He spoke to her softly, as if he were letting her in on a secret. They had already worked out a short list of possible suspects, but Woody was talking her through things one more time just to be sure they hadn't missed anyone. Renee knew he was just doing his job and trying to be thorough, but she sick of his questions.

"The guy you're trying now," he said, "he's accused of…"

"Rape and murder of two teenage girls last year," Renee finished.

"And do you think he's got someone on the outside that might do this…for revenge?" Renee shook her head vigorously in the negative.

"No. His mother turned him in…he's got no family or anything left." Woody nodded and checked what she said now against what she'd said earlier.

"I need you to think about all the cases you're working on right now. Is there anyone who would stand to benefit from holding Grace for ransom?"

"You mean besides everyone?" Renee hadn't meant to be short with the detective but it was a rather ridiculous question. Since she'd become district attorney, family members of people she'd sent to prison and even the prisoners themselves had threatened to get revenge for what she'd done to them in the courtroom. For the most part, she'd accepted the threats as an occupational hazard. Even after Emmett Parker attacked her in the morgue parking lot Renee returned to work with the notion that her job was too important to give up because of one altercation. But now things were different. Her daughter's life hung in the balance and she was left wracking her brain for every psycho who had ever crossed her path.

"What about old cases?" Hoyt asked her then, "has anyone one you sent down gotten parole recently?" Renee tilted her head to the ceiling and tried to think.

"I-I-I don't know. I don't know. Maybe. I'd have to look at my files and see where everyone is." No sooner had the words escaped her, did three uniformed officers enter the apartment. Each of the men was wheeling a dolly stacked high with file boxes. Renee directed them to the kitchen and once the officers had gone, she started in on the thousands of folders. Detective Hoyt asked another detective to help her and left to interview Grace's father, Eddie, again.

As Renee flipped through the files she silently prayed to a god she had abandoned decades ago. She prayed that the name of her daughter's kidnapper would be in one of these boxes. Because of Renee's position in the city, no one thought Grace's kidnapping was random. Whoever had taken her had planned it carefully. They had waited until Renee was gone for the morning, charmed their way past Hank, the door man, and snatched Grace from her crib before the nanny even had a chance to scream. Renee, along with every police officer involved, believed the kidnapper's motive was ransom and everyone hoped they were right. If in fact the motive was ransom Grace had a greater chance of making it home alive than if she had been taken by a pervert who had know idea whose child he'd taken. Renee had money. It wasn't enough to pay a ransom but she'd get every last penny on earth if it meant she'd have her daughter back. With that in mind, she jotted down the name of a possible suspect, a pedophile named Jeffery Daniels who had gotten parole three moths ago.

In the next room Renee could hear crime scene investigators talking quietly amongst themselves. They'd been combing Grace's bedroom for clues for hours, looking for anything that might tell them who the kidnapper was or where he had gone. She closed the box she'd been working through and stood to get another. As she turned she saw a photo of Grace taped to the door of her refrigerator. Her eyes began to sting and again, she felt like she might be sick. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and tried to pull herself together. The detective at the table must have noticed her effort because looked up at her and asked if she was alright.

"I just feel like I should be out there looking for her," Renee said, lifting the lid off another box. The detective looked her square in the eyes. His face was worn and his hands were calloused. He'd been on the job long enough to know just how to speak to mothers like Renee.

"If the kidnapper calls here, like we think he will, we're gonna need you here to talk to him," he explained. "We've got dozens of guys out there…they're gonna find her Miss Walcott." The detective's eyes softened and Renee was glad of his assurances, even though she suspected they were more rehearsed than genuine.

Two boxes and three potential suspects later Renee heard the door to her apartment swing open. Her heart leapt into her throat and she thought for a moment that one of the officers might have brought Grace home. Instead she twisted in her chair to see Garret Macy standing in the expensive modernity of her living room. She gasped audibly and clutched her hand to her chest.

"Oh my god, she's dead," she said, immediately assuming the worst. Garret was quick to correct her and crossed the apartment to the kitchen.

"No, no, no, no," he said quickly, "she's not dead." Renee's body unclenched then as she fought to control her breathing.

"Then what are you doing here?" she asked. Garret glanced down nervously at his shoes and noticed that in his hurry to get here, he'd put on one brown shoe and one black shoe.

"I just saw you on the news…I wanted to help." Renee looked at him hard to judge his sincerity. He looked like hell and she told him as much, even though it didn't matter in the least. He needed to shave and the deep circles under his eyes made him look five years older than he actually was. If she was being honest with herself, Renee could have admitted that she wanted his help. She could have had admitted that now that he was here, she wanted him to hold her hand and tell her everything was going to be okay. But she had too much on her mind to be honest with herself and she'd told too many lies to be honest with him. So instead she gave him a tight smile and turned back to the file on the table. When she couldn't see him anymore she spoke.

"Grab a file. We can use all the help we can get."


	3. Chapter Three

I apologize for taking so long to update, guys. I hope this was worth the wait. Enjoy.

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"Alright people, what've got?" Woody asked when he came through the door marked 1407. Although his limp made it difficult for him to appear strong and commanding, he used his voice and attitude to prove to everyone in the room that he was in control. As he moved further into the apartment, his colleagues quickly filled his hands with phone records, notes from interviews with neighbors and reports from CSU. When he'd made it half way to the kitchen he noticed a familiar face at the table.

"What's up, Doc?" he asked, when he'd crossed onto the tiles of the kitchen floor. Dr. Macy stood and extended one hand to the detective and clapped the other on his shoulder.

"How you doin', Woody?" he asked with a sincere smile. Woody jerked his head towards his cane.

"I could do without this," he said. At the mention of his injury, the pair fell awkwardly silent. Without missing a beat, Renee saved them from talking about how their lives had changed since they'd last seen one another.

"We've been through most of the boxes," she started, directing her attention to Detective Hoyt. "These are the guys we've found that have been paroled in the last six months and who I think are capable of this." She handed him a slip of paper with fourteen names and fourteen addresses on it.

Woody scanned the list quickly. He recognized only one name; Ricky Framingham. During his first year in Boston, Woody had helped put Ricky away for attempted murder. Ricky was what Woody, and anyone else who knew him, would refer to as 'bad news'. As far as Woody knew, Ricky had never killed anyone; it just seemed that when people were murdered, Ricky's name always came up. When a crime was committed in Boston, chances were good that Ricky knew something about it. Woody doubted Ricky had taken Grace, but as he divided the names on the list between his fellow detectives he kept Ricky's address for himself. He wanted to hear what Ricky had to say first hand.

"Miss Walcott, I've just spoken to your neighbor in 1402, Miranda Owens." Woody said when the other detectives had their assignments. The district attorney raised her eyebrows and sealed her mouth into a harsh line.

"Did you?" she said quietly. Her tone made Woody suspect she was hiding something.

"Yeah, do you know her?" he asked innocently.

"Not really," she admitted. "Eddie knows her better than I do." She put her hands on her hips then, anxious for him to get to the point of his questions.

"Why's that? She's your neighbor, not his." Woody noticed then, the uncomfortable way Dr. Macy looked around the room at the mention of the ex-husband. He wondered briefly if he should have approached Miss Walcott in private.

"Because, detective," she started with an annoyed grin, obviously not caring who heard what she was about to say, "He's sleeping with her. Did he forget to mention that when you talked to him?" Woody flipped through his notebook even though he knew Mr. Thomas hadn't said a word about his girlfriend.

"The ex-wife and the kid a few doors down. That must be weird," Woody said to no one in particular. He made a quick note in his book to speak to Mr. Thomas about Miss Owens before handing Miss Walcott her telephone records. "I'm going to go talk to this Ricky Framingham character." he announced. "I need you to look through those records and let me know if there are any numbers you don't recognize." Before she could agree to do what he'd asked the phone on the kitchen wall gave a sharp, piercing ring.

Renee's stomach churned at the sound. Everyone was suddenly silent and every eye was on her. Detective Hoyt motioned to a technician in the living room. The technician slipped into a set of head phones and went to work on the buttons and wires of the recording device he'd set up on the counter. When he gave the signal to Hoyt, he turned to Renee.

"Take a deep breath; keep him on the phone as long as you can." Renee nodded slowly. She knew the procedure but as she reached for the phone she feared that she wouldn't be able to hold herself together long enough to speak with Grace's kidnapper. She cleared her throat and pressed the receiver to her ear.

"Hello?" she said as calmly as she could. She took another deep breath, closed her eyes and everyone else in the room disappeared while she waited for a voice on the line.

"Renee," the voice said, "I just saw you on the news, what's going on?" Renee sighed and turned to face the others. She waved her hand across the room to let everyone know the call was a false alarm and let her palm fall in the center of Garret's chest as if to steady herself. Unbeknownst to her, he had been less than a step away since the phone first rang. He was looking directly into her eyes now as she spoke into the phone.

"Jesus, Mom," she muttered and then launched into a brief recap of what had happened this morning. As Renee listened to her mother's questions and concerns, she slowly balled Garret's shit into her fist. "Mom, I can't really talk you right now, okay?" she said finally, her voice pleading for her mother to hang up the phone. "I'll call you as soon as I know anything." With her eyes still locked on his, Renee hung up the phone and tapped her fist lightly against Garret's chest. "I'll be right back," she announced, then turned on her heels and headed for the bathroom.

Renee locked the bathroom door behind her quickly crossed the tiles to the edge of the bathtub. She sat there for a moment, rocking slightly with her hands pressed between her knees. The sick feeling intensified in her stomach and bile rose in her throat. A second later she was on her knees, bent over the toilet, using both hands to hold her hair from her face and crying the first of many tears that would come that day.

x x x

He hadn't seen her or heard from anyone who had in over an hour and it worried him. Grace had been missing for more than six hours and Renee was holding everything together marvelously well. But Garret knew better than to take her at her word when she said she was fine to believe her when she gave a hopeful smile. He put down he'd been sifting through and went to find her.

The apartment was large but its open concept left few doors behind which she could hide. When he twisted the knob on her bedroom door he heard someone move inside. Deciding now, that perhaps she didn't want to be found, Garret rapped lightly on the door and quietly called her name. She didn't invite him in, but she didn't tell him to go away either. Taking this as a good sign, Garret eased into the room, opening the door only as much as he had to in order to squeeze through, and pressed it delicately closed behind him.

Renee didn't look up when she heard him enter. Instead she stared unseeing out the window. She was sitting on the floor in the dark, her back pressed against the frame of her bed and her knees tucked up to her chest. Beside her, the shallow drawer of her nightstand was open. If she had leaned an inch or so to the left, she might have hit her head against its handle. Almost everything in the drawer had been thrown aside and now lay in a heap on the floor. It took Garret only a second to realize she had been scrounging for the 'in case of emergency' pack of cigarettes she hid in the back of the drawer.

The air around her was heavy with smoke and Garret could see she'd smoked close to half the pack already. Outside the day had turned a violent grey, as if to mimic their situation. The dark shine of the nervous and promising sky cast Renee in a silvery blue haze, punctuated by the orange glow that swelled and faded with every drag on her cigarette. Standing in the doorway, less than ten feet away, Garret thought she might have looked like a lounge singer hand she been sitting at a piano rather than on her bedroom floor. Her tired eyes and soft lips waited tensely for the next pull on the cigarette that dangled expensively between her fingers.

"I thought I'd come see how you were doing," Garret said finally. Renee didn't respond, only tapped her cigarette towards the floor where it's ashes dropped expertly into the half empty water glass at her feet. Garret waited for what seemed like forever for her to speak. When she didn't, he turned and reached for the door handle. Before he could turn it, he finally heard her voice. It was so timid and nervous that he thought perhaps he had imagined it, but when he turned back into the room, she said it again.

"Don't." And he didn't. Instead he crossed the room and sat on the floor beside her. When she dropped her spent cigarette in to the glass a moment later, Garret watched it fall as if mesmerized by it. He watched the butt bob once under the water then settle on the surface. When he looked back up, he found that Renee had shaken another Marlboro out of the emergency package. The cigarette dripped perfectly from her lip and Garret thought for a moment about how in high school, he and his friends had thought smoking was just about the sexiest thing a woman could do. Since then he'd grown up, become a doctor and now he knew better. But right now, with her cigarettes and pain, Garret thought Renee looked just like the women he and his buddies had fantasized about. The allusion was broken a breath later when Renee struck a match and brought it ever closer to her mouth. Garret watched as the flame trembled in her shaking hands and finally burned out. She dropped the hot match into the water where it hissed for only a second. When the first match was silent, she tried another. Again, the tremors in her hand shook the flame out before it reached her cigarette.

"Here," Garret said quietly and turned to face her. He picked the match book from the floor, struck one and lit her cigarette. When he dropped it, it plunked and hissed in the water but, this time, Garret didn't watch it. Instead his attention was focused on the black streaks that coursed down each of Renee's cheeks.

When Renee realized what he was seeing, a few more tears fell from the corners of her eyes and burned through the make-up stains on her face. Moved by her quiet and uncharacteristic display of emotion, Garret took her hand in his own and laced his fingers through hers. When she didn't pull away, Garret resumed his original position with his back pressed against the bed. He stretched his legs out in front of him and set his gaze out the window and through it, saw the dark and hopeless day Renee had been staring at.

They stayed that way for a long time and soon rain started to beat hard against the glass. When the thunder came, Garret tightened his grip oh her hand, only letting go to light another cigarette for her.


End file.
